


sygrayem (let's play)

by cressisaqueen



Category: Anastasia - Flaherty/Ahrens/McNally
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, but not a whole lot, dimya, it's not a queen's gambit au but it's a queen's gambit au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-19 03:22:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29868393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cressisaqueen/pseuds/cressisaqueen
Summary: “What are you doing?” Anya asked. She lifted her head up from off the floor, then fully got up.“Playing chess.”“By yourself?”Nanna gestured to the empty seat across from her. “Care to play?” she asked Anya.“I don’t know how.”“I’ll teach you.”
Relationships: Anya | Anastasia Romanov & Maria Romanov (Anastasia 1997 & Broadway), Dimitri | Dmitry/Anya | Anastasia Romanov (Anastasia 1997 & Broadway)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 21





	sygrayem (let's play)

**Author's Note:**

> i finished the queen's gambit yesterday and it SLAPS 
> 
> i know absolutely nothing about chess i know maybe 3 things in total so i'm sorry if anything is incorrect i'm just stupid

Anya first played chess when she was ten years old. Her family was visiting her nanna in Paris, and while her parents and sisters were out shopping and sightseeing, Anya and Alexei were left behind. 

“Why couldn’t we go with them?” Anya whined. She was on the floor, her legs sticking straight up into the air. Alexei was scribbling in his coloring book. 

“Because, my dear,” Nanna said, sitting at the dining room table, “we need some time to bond.” Anya loved her nanna; she gave her presents and always paid more attention to her than her siblings, but there was such a thing as too much time with the woman. She wasn’t even paying any attention to Anya. 

“What are you doing?” Anya asked. She lifted her head up from off the floor, then fully got up. 

“Playing chess.”

“By yourself?”

Nanna gestured to the empty seat across from her. “Care to play?” she asked Anya.

“I don’t know how.” 

“I’ll teach you.” 

Anya picked it up relatively quickly. Bishops move diagonally, rooks go up and down, knights are the little horses, blah blah blah. She liked it well enough. It seemed to make everything quiet; the only thing she needed to focus on was what to do and how to react. 

She was about to win, to capture the king, when Nanna said, “No.” 

Anya froze. “What do you mean no?” 

“This is when you forfeit. You can’t move the way you want, the way that will make you win, so, you forfeit.” 

That wasn’t fair. She was about to win. Her first win. 

“No, let me keep going,” Anya pleaded. “I can win, I know I can.” That only made Nanna laugh. Anya hated the feeling that came with that laugh. Like she was being looked down on. 

“Nastya, you still have so much to learn about chess before you can win.” 

Anya huffed, stomped up to her room. She would have won. She could have won. What did Nanna even know about chess? Anya hardly ever saw her play; how good could she truly be? How good could Anya truly become? 

The next day, Anya’s entire family was supposed to go to the Louvre, but Anya refused to go.

“I want to play chess,” she said when her parents tried to force her out the door. “With Nanna.” She caught her grandmother’s eye, and saw the same determination staring back at her. Anya would be the greatest chess player in the world.

* * *

She had won the title of Connecticut State Champion three years in a row. Nanna took her to tournaments all across the country. People began to know the name Anya Romanov. 

She mostly relied on her intuition. She knew where to move the pieces, knew where her opponent would move theirs, and adjusted accordingly. Sure, she read a few books about it, but how much could she truly learn by reading? She had to be out there doing, gaining experience. It helped her win, after all. 

There were some close calls. Players becoming unpredictable, relying on their own intuition. It scared Anya just a bit. But those players were few and far between. Besides, she always beat them in the end. 

The game that had scared her the most was a match against New York’s champion Gleb Vaganov. He was all logic, all precise movements. It was hard to intimidate him when he could see past her unpredictability. The game had lasted almost four hours; Anya won. She was only sixteen when she won that tournament. 

It wasn’t until college that she truly met her match. Dmitry Sudayev, the United States champion, was a year ahead of her at NYU. He was also a real dick. 

“Can I help you?” he asked when Anya sat down across from him at the library. She was a sophomore, majoring in history with a Russian lit minor. She didn’t intend to do anything with that major and minor of course, but it kept her parents off her back. It gave her somewhat of a life outside of chess. 

“Dmitry Sudayev, correct?” Anya asked, already knowing the answer. He nodded. “I want you to train me.”

“What?”

“Train me,” Anya repeated. “In chess.” Dmitry stared at her for a solid minute before he bursted out laughing, earning him multiple shushes from everyone else in the library. He continued laughing more softly for another whole minute before finally sobering up. “And why is that so funny?” Anya asked, trying to keep her anger in check. 

“I don’t do that anymore. I gave up chess a long time ago.” Anya’s jaw dropped slightly, her hope evaporating out of her. But if there was one thing Anya was, it was stubborn. 

“Then think of this as a comeback. You, of all people, couldn’t have given up chess for good.” That made Dmitry pause. Whether he liked it or not, she knew him. She knew his playing style, his wins, his loses. She knew it all. She knew he lost - badly - his senior year of high school. She knew he took the easy way out and became an art major at NYU.

She knew he would help her become the next United States champion. Then the world. 

“And what’s in this for me?” Dmitry asked. Anya rolled her eyes; shouldn’t the thrill of becoming familiar with the game again be enough for him? 

“You can say you taught the world champion everything she knows,” Anya said. Dmitry chuckled. He considered her for a moment, and it sparked something in Anya. He seemed to truly see her for everything she was. 

He stuck out his hand. “Fine.” Anya took it, shaking his hand once before letting go. “We’ll start tomorrow, after classes.” 

Anya couldn’t wait.

* * *

“And you’ve never lost a game before today?” Dmitry asked, obviously gloating. It made Anya want to hit him, just slightly. 

“Correct,” Anya forced out. Dmitry had beaten her. Five times. The first time was enough to make her want to stop, quit while she was ahead. But he asked her to play again, and again, and again. For some reason, she couldn’t quite say no to him. It only made her a little frustrated. 

“And who taught you how to play again?”

“My nanna.” Dmitry’s chuckle was quiet, but enough to stoke the flames of Anya’s fury. “She was the best chess player I’ve ever played,” Anya defended. 

Dmitry started moving the pieces back to their starting places. “Oh, I have no doubt she was. She just didn’t teach you shit.” 

Anya stood up so fast that her chair toppled over. Dmitry froze, his hand hovering over a rook. 

“And what have you taught me so far, besides how to gloat?” 

“Sit down. Again,” Dmitry ordered. It wasn’t a command as much as it was a suggestion.  _ Maybe you should sit down. Maybe we should play again.  _ Anya did as he asked. She always seemed to. 

He started, moving his pawn up two. Anya countered by moving her own pawn, making it so he couldn’t move up again. Dmitry moved up another pawn, and Anya repeated the move she did before. Instead of moving another piece, Dmitry took Anya’s hand and made her move her pawn back. 

“If you do that,” Dmitry said, taking his bishop, “I could easily do this,” he moved it to the spot her pawn just was, “and then that,” bishop to capture another pawn, “and then you’re done.” He was right; he could’ve checkmated her in three simple moves. Why didn’t Anya see that? 

“But I…” Anya trailed off. It was so simple and yet she couldn’t see it. “You- but I- it was just…” 

“You play using your gut. It makes you good but also sloppy. You don’t use your head unless you’re threatened. Those first moves are just a warm up for you,” Dmitry said. 

He stood up, cleaning up the pieces, packing the board away. Anya stayed frozen at the table. He was right. It all came so naturally to her, she didn’t even think about it until midgame. What else could he see that she couldn’t? 

“C’mon Romanov, let’s get you something to eat,” he said, taking her hands and yanking her out of the chair. 

Before they retired to their separate dorms, Dmitry gave her more books than she could carry. Books about strategy, about openings, about world famous chess players. He was as serious about this as she was. It was a nice feeling. It felt like she found a kindred spirit.

* * *

Anya was there for Dmitry’s graduation, and he returned for hers. She did nothing with her degree, much to her parents' anger. She moved in with Dmitry. 

It was just like college, but something had shifted. Something neither wanted to name. Of course Anya always knew Dmitry was attractive. She had a small crush on him when she first saw his picture in a chess magazine. Then she met him and thought he was arrogant and rude. Then she truly got to know him and realized he was none of those things at all. What he was was a damn good chess player. 

He went with her to all her tournaments, never missing a single game. He cheered for her when she won, and cheered just as loudly when she lost. She lost once.

Her opponent was Vlad Popov, a US champion from when Anya was little, there to reclaim his title. He was kind and smart and  _ good _ , beating Anya at her own game. He was like her; he played based on his gut. When he won, his smile was warmer than anything Anya had ever known. 

That game had cost her the title of US champion. 

“It’s fine. You’ll beat him next year,” Dmitry said, passing her his basket of fries. She took one, passing the basket back. “And then, Paris.”

“And then Russia,” Anya said. Their mantra since Anya’s junior year. Dmitry smiled at her. It made Anya’s breath catch in her throat. “Should we play when we get home?” His smile disappeared as he scratched the back of his neck.

“Actually, after this I have to go on a date.” Oh. Anya didn’t know he was seeing anyone. He never mentioned it. “It’s just a blind date a coworker set me up on. I don’t even know her.” He rushed the words out, like he didn’t want her to think it was his choice. Anya nodded, wished him luck. 

The walk home was the most alone she’d felt in years. 

Dmitry came home to find Anya passed out on the couch, the TV still on. Two beer bottles were on the coffee table. He carried her to her room, almost wishing she’d asked him to stay. He returned to his own room, worry stirring in his gut.

* * *

Anya didn’t spiral. She’s had her own fair share of bad days, but nothing bad enough to make her give up completely. Until she played Lily Malevsky-Malevitch in Paris.

Lily checkmated her in six moves. Anya wanted to scream and cry and take a very long nap. She did none of that. She ignored Dmitry’s attempts to make her feel better, instead making a beeline for the hotel bar. 

It was almost two in the morning when Anya returned to their room. 

“It was just a game,” Dmitry said. Anya jumped; she thought he had gone to bed hours ago.

“It’s never just a game, Dmitry. That game could have possibly cost me everything.” 

Dmitry found her in the dark, taking her hands. “Is that really so bad?” he asked.

“You know the answer to that.” Anya could feel the tears welling up in her eyes. Dmitry leaned forward, pressing his forehead to hers. “You knew the answer on day one.” 

“Maybe a break could be good for you,” he suggested. Anya pulled away. “Your entire life can’t be chess, Anya.” 

“Of course  _ you _ would tell me that,” Anya muttered. She shouldn’t be starting a fight, not when he was just trying to help, but she couldn’t help it. How dare he try to suggest this wasn’t worth it anymore. 

“Excuse me?” 

“You quit, Dmitry! When it got too hard, you quit. I won’t be like you, I won’t make your mistakes.” 

“It seems like my only mistake was trusting some kid who doesn’t know anything outside of the little bubble she’s made for herself,” Dmitry spat. He said the words to hurt her, and they did. The worst part was that she couldn’t tell if he meant it or not.

“If I’m such a  _ child  _ then, why even agree to help me in the first place? You easily could’ve said no!” 

Dmitry chuckled but there was no warmth, no humor. “I saw myself in you that first day. Your passion, your determination, it reminded me of me. I thought if I helped you and guided you, I could help you avoid making,” he took a deep breath, “my mistakes.” 

He was wrong. Anya was nothing like him; she was better. But Dmitry wouldn’t spend hours at a bar only to return home to yell at his roommate. He would’ve seen Lily’s moves, anticipated how good she truly was. Anya may have been the better chess player, but Dmitry was the better person. He didn’t let chess take over him completely. 

Anya took a step toward him, ready to land the final blow. “Well, look where all that training and hard work has gotten us.” Anya turned, ready to flee into the bathroom, but Dmitry began to follow her, reaching out to take her hand. She brushed him off and left him in the middle of their dark hotel room, alone. 

* * *

They didn’t speak in the morning. She ignored him all throughout breakfast, the entire car ride to the airport, all the way until boarding. He was the first to break the silence.

“Anya, I-”

“Please don’t,” Anya interrupted. She wanted to cry. “I treated you like shit when you were trying to help. You didn’t deserve that. You were right.”

His grin was so wide and smug it made Anya regret opening her mouth at all.

“Did Anya Romanov say I was right?” Dmitry said. She hit his arm.

“I’m not saying it again, so gloat now while you can.” 

He suddenly grew serious and Anya wished he was still being annoying. “I never meant to imply that this wasn’t worth it anymore. It’s your dream, of course it’s worth it. I just know how a loss can affect a dedicated player. Like you said, I quit. I didn’t want you to push yourself past the point of no return.” 

Anya didn’t think she wanted to kiss him more than she did in that moment. Instead, she rested her head on his shoulder and took out her book. A silent forgiveness.

* * *

She was supposed to go to Moscow at the end of the year. She was supposed to play against Lily again. She wouldn’t lose. 

“And if she plays her bishop…” Dmitry said, quizzing her.

“I counter with my knight,” Anya answered. It must’ve been the answer Dmitry was looking for because his smile was wide enough to show his dimple. She took his advice, stepped back ever so slightly. On the weekends they went to the movies and got dinner instead of playing chess on the floor. They binged TV together and even got a dog. Anya was still the best player Dmitry had ever seen. 

“See, look at what some reading and strategy can do for you,” Dmitry said after she won three times in a row. Anya rolled her eyes. “You’re going to beat her.” He was suddenly very close to her. Anya looked down, avoiding his eyes. She couldn’t do this, not now anyway. 

“We’ll see. If I’ve gotten better, there’s no doubt Lily has too.” 

Dmitry took her hand, making her look at him. “You’re going to beat her,” he repeated. She didn’t miss the way his breath hitched, the way he realized just how close they actually were. Maybe he wasn’t as dense to her feelings as she assumed he was. 

They both began to lean in, aware of what this could mean for them as partners. Anya didn’t care; she was ready to give in. 

Until Dmitry pulled away.

“We can’t,” he said. He seemed to be saying it to himself more than to her. “I can’t be a distraction to you, not when Moscow is right around the corner.” 

“You were the one who said my entire life can’t be chess. So now I can’t have any distractions?” Whether they kissed or not, he would always be a distraction to her. 

“I won’t be the reason you lose, Anya.” He sounded devastated. Like he truly  _ could  _ be the reason she might lose.

Anya laughed, quick and humorless. “You said I was going to beat her.” She meant it as a joke, but they were both wound up too tightly to appreciate it. She tried to take his hand, but he pulled away, like she burned him. It hurt more than she could bear. “I’ve won almost every game and you’ve been there for all of those. Why should this time be any different?” 

“Because I-” he cut himself off, took a deep breath. “Because we…” 

He was being a coward. He would rather run away then deal with what was right in front of him. Anya had never known him to be a coward. 

“Fuck you,” Anya said. Dmitry’s eyes widened in surprise. “You can’t just put everything into something only to pull out at the last minute. Just because you’re too scared to figure this out doesn’t mean you can throw away what we’ve worked so hard for.” 

“What  _ you’ve  _ worked so hard for,” Dmitry corrected. “What did I do besides beat you a few times in the beginning?” Oh. Anya realized it wasn’t a matter of giving up; it was a matter of insecurities. She would be the world champion and then what would that make him? She wouldn’t need him anymore. So he was running away before she could. 

It still made him a coward. 

“All I am now is because of you, Dmitry. If you can’t see that then you’re an even bigger idiot than I thought you were.” 

Anya grabbed her bag from off the floor, snatched her coat from the arm of the couch. She had to get out of there. 

“Where are you going?” Dmitry asked. 

“My sister’s,” Anya answered, refusing to look at him. 

He scoffed. “So you get to run away then, huh?” She froze, swallowing the lump in her throat. She took her key from the hook by the door. 

“I’m getting rid of all distractions,” Anya said, opening the front door and slamming it shut. She didn’t get farther than a block before she had the urge to call him. But she had a point to make, and if Anya Romanov was anything, it was stubborn.

* * *

Anya woke to the smell of coffee and the sound of her sister singing in the kitchen. She had been staying with Maria for almost a week now, with one left until Moscow. She was absolutely miserable. 

“How are you feeling?” Maria asked when Anya entered the kitchen. Maria hadn’t questioned her when Anya showed up on her doorstep, asking if she could crash for a week or two. She knew Anya and Dmitry had fought, but that was all Anya would tell her. 

Anya took the cup of coffee offered to her. She took a long, slow sip before saying, “Definitely been better.” 

“Was the fight that bad?” Anya nodded. “Is he still going to Russia with you?” 

“I don’t know,” Anya said, hoping the subject would just drop. She couldn’t think about him or their fight or anything that wasn’t chess. 

Anya sat down on the couch, her coffee cup balanced on her knee. Her chess board was still set up from last night; she was one move away from checkmating herself. She remembered overhearing Maria on a phone call, heard her say Dmitry’s name, and Anya didn’t have the heart to finish the game. Even when he wasn’t around he still distracted her. 

She reset the board, played four games against herself, winning as white twice and black twice. She was going to win; she had to. 

“Nanna would be so proud of you,” Maria said one night. Anya had played a total of eight games and was almost finished with her ninth. Anya didn’t spiral. But seeing Dmitry posting on his Instagram about some girl he took ice skating was almost enough to make Anya chug a bottle of wine. She didn’t; Maria never kept alcohol in the house. Chess was the next best thing. 

“Lately I’ve been doubting that,” Anya muttered as she captured a pawn. What would Nanna have said about Paris? Anya didn’t even want to think about it. 

“She would have loved that you’re going to Russia. She would have wanted to show you home.” Her entire family had been to Russia except Anya. The week they went was a huge tournament Anya couldn’t miss. Dmitry had told her that he would take her one day, show her the streets of his Petersburg. When she makes it to Russia, she would avoid Petersburg like the plague. 

Anya’s phone buzzed, making her lose her concentration. It was a text. From Dmitry

**dima [9:32 pm]: have a safe flight tomorrow**

Her anger was a wave, overtaking her until it washed away everything except her sadness. She wanted him to be there. She wanted him to be the first person she saw after she won.

* * *

Russia was even colder than Anya expected. Her suitcase was packed with all the coats and sweaters Maria insisted she take, knowing Anya wouldn’t go back to her own apartment. 

She managed to check into the hotel with no issues. Until she saw Lily Malevsky-Malevitch sitting in the lobby, playing chess with four people at once. Anya rushed into the elevator, practically shaking. She couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t think. All the emotions she felt in Paris returned with a vengeance. 

She was going to lose. 

The tournament wasn’t much different than any of Anya’s previous ones, but it weighed infinitely more on Anya’s mind. She couldn’t talk to Dmitry about any of her worries, and Maria didn’t know a single thing about chess. For the first time since her nanna passed during her senior year of high school, Anya was truly alone. 

Despite her anxiety, she did incredibly well. She was usually the first player done, much to her future opponents’ annoyance. Her wins did nothing to fill the hole in her stomach. It all meant nothing without him there.

In her downtime, Anya stayed in her room, reading and playing chess and trying not to call Dmitry. She only had to remind herself that he bailed and her anger would threaten to choke her again. It worked well enough.

The day before her match with Lily, Anya agreed to an interview. Dmitry had always warned her against them, that her opponents could learn that much more and use it against her in the game. But he wasn’t here to stop her this time.

“And who taught you how to play chess?” the reporter asked. 

“My nanna, Marie Romanov,” Anya replied with pride. She truly owed her whole life to that woman. “Um, but I didn’t really begin to hone my skill until I met Dmitry Sudayev. He taught me practically everything I know.”  _ Shut up,  _ she told herself. She was mad at him. He didn’t deserve her praise. “He’s truly a gifted player.” 

“And where is Mr. Sudayev now? I see he isn’t here to celebrate all your wins with you.” Yeah, he wasn’t. But Anya didn’t care. If winning some stupid arguement meant losing Dmitry forever, Anya would lose. She would forfeit. 

“He’s at home, in America. We agreed that if he came, it might hurt my chances of winning, and we couldn’t risk that.” 

That night, Anya’s phone buzzed. It was a text. From Dmitry.

**dima [10:47 pm]: kick her ass**

An unspoken forgiveness. 

* * *

Anya woke up to roughly twenty messages from her siblings. They all essentially said the same thing: they were watching and rooting for her. 

She tried to call Dmitry, just to officially make sure they were okay, but he wouldn’t pick up.  _ It’s fine,  _ Anya told herself. She would just call him after her game. She would call to say she won. He’d love that. 

A large crowd applauded Anya when she entered the hotel ballroom. Chairs were set up from end to end, all facing a small table with two chairs and a chessboard. Lily Malevsky-Malevitch was already sitting down. Anya took a breath, wiped her palms on the skirt of her dress, and sat down across from her. 

The two women shook hands and then the game began. 

Lily was good, better than she was in Paris. But Anya was better than she was in Paris too. She could do this. 

They played for almost five hours. Anya could feel the exhaustion begin to set it, not just from the week, but from everything. Paris, her first fight with Dmitry, everything leading up to their second fight, the plane trip to Russia. It was all beginning to crush her. 

But then Lily played her bishop. The exact move that Dmitry showed her two weeks ago that would declare Anya the world champion. Anya looked up at Lily, saw her own exhaustion. She didn’t seem to realize the mistake she made. Or she had the world’s best poker face. 

Anya moved her knight. Check. Lily realized Anya’s plan too late. She couldn’t do anything to get out of it. Lily moved her king right into the path of Anya’s rook. Mate. 

“Well,” Lily said, offering Anya her hand. “Congratulations, World Champion.” Anya shook Lily’s hand, not quite believing what she just heard. But then everyone around her burst into applause. 

People began rushing over to shake her hand, examine the board, get her autograph, but she didn’t see any of them. Because standing right in front of her was Dmitry. 

She launched herself into his arms. He had to crouch slightly to properly hug her back. 

“You’re here,” she whispered, on the verge of tears. 

“Well, I wasn’t going to miss you becoming the world champion, now was I?” They broke apart and Anya never felt so relieved to see anyone in her life. 

“For a while I thought you were,” Anya said. He had the decency to look guilty. “I called you, you know.”

“I was on the plane. I wanted it to be a surprise.” Anya smiled, her first proper smile in weeks. Dmitry smiled back. He took her hand, leading her out of the ballroom, past multiple reporters, and up to her room. 

The room was a complete mess. Anya had forgotten to make the bed, there were clothes everywhere, and at least five coffee cups littered the table. 

“Romanov, you are  _ such  _ a slob,” Dmitry said, causing Anya to giggle. It had been so long since they were able to be like this. She missed him more than words could say. 

“Sorry, but I was left without a responsible roommate. You know I hate doing the dishes.”

“And the laundry.” Dmitry took her other hand, resting his forehead against hers. It was almost the exact opposite of Paris. 

“And the cooking,” Anya muttered. He was so close. Her eyes fluttered closed. 

“And vacuuming.” And finally, after what felt like a lifetime of waiting, Anya closed the gap, kissing Dmitry like her life depended on it. 

He let go of her hand to cup her cheek, and Anya wrapped her arms around his neck, playing with his hair. She noticed that he tasted like ginger ale, most likely from the plane ride. Dmitry deepened the kiss, and Anya knew she loved this stupid, arrogant, incredible, talented boy. 

They broke apart and Dmitry asked, “Do you want to play chess?”

Anya laughed, kissed him again. “Let’s play.” 

**Author's Note:**

> i'm on tumblr @cressisaqueen


End file.
